


Ponderosa Showmance

by Mosca



Category: Survivor RPF
Genre: Beach Sex, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, M/M, Pretending to Be Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 12:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mosca/pseuds/Mosca
Summary: Marcus isn't gay. He's just in showmance.





	Ponderosa Showmance

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this fic to my Livejournal in December 2008, as part of the Undermistletoe challenge and as a birthday present for Amy. 
> 
> This story takes place during Survivor: Gabon, which had just aired when I posted, but is based mostly on events in the bonus web content about the contestants on the jury, which no longer seems to be online anywhere. There's significant internalized homophobia in the attitudes of both characters, which I might have framed differently if I'd written this today.
> 
> Notes from the original post: Thanks to Amy for encouragement and audiencing on her own birthday present, and to Anna for the quick beta. Written for undermistletoe 2008, for which my prompt was fanfic clichés. The dominant cliché here is We're Not Gay, We Just Love Each Other, although there are healthy doses of Stranded Alone Together, They Confront Their Feelings; Pretending To Be Gay; and Magical Healing Powers Of Buttsex. Also, the reality TV clichés of Showmance and Famewhoring.

For the first three days, Ponderosa is the Fortress of Solitude. This is what Marcus calls it, although it's more like Wayne Manor, Batman alone with his servants and his thirst for revenge. He eats brownie sundaes and macaroni and cheese; he plays video games with himself, reads throwaway spy novels, jogs barefoot along the beach at sunset. Self-indulgently, he thinks about himself, about getting married and having kids and why he hasn't done it yet, about staring out at his thirtieth birthday on the horizon. He doesn't think about immunity idols, challenges, alliances, the merge, anything that will remind him of a million dollars.

He watches Probst snuff out Charlie's torch, and he's torn. He wanted Charlie to win if he couldn't, maybe even if he could have won, dreamed them in the final two. But now it'll be him and Charlie together at Wayne Manor, although the metaphor kind of falls down there because Charlie's actually a few months older than Marcus, so nobody's quite Batman and nobody's quite Robin. Neither of them would admit to being a sidekick.

Charlie, it turns out, went to Penn and is a lawyer at some hardcore firm in New York. He sucks at video games and kicks Marcus's ass at running. Charlie says he thought Marcus was a triathlete, and Marcus tells Charlie to go fuck himself, and Charlie says, "Okay, but I'd rather fuck you," and the camera guy in the golf cart alongside them asks them to please stop swearing because he needs some footage of them running to post on the internet.

Charlie does not stop flirting. It seems like his strategy is to get Marcus drunk and taunt him with gay sex offers. For four and a half beers, Marcus has the strength to turn him down. But at the bottom of the fifth beer lie grandiose and terrible ideas. "You know what we should have?" He is pointing his finger and shaking it and everything, but he can't stop himself. "A showmance. A post-elimination showmance. Like, we should go to tribal and wear shirts that say 'I Heart Charlie' and hold hands and stare at Crystal like gay Jesus hates her."

Charlie practically laughs his beer out of his nose. "So, what, you'd pretend I won you over and converted you?"

"Well, it would be mutual. Mutual messing with people."

Charlie looks sad and serious. With his face clean-shaven and his hair fixed up, he's much more feminine. Like, part girl and part beagle. Marcus has assumed so far that Charlie's flirting was strategic, but it's clear now that his heart was in it, his whole heart. Marcus isn't sure what to say, so he gets another beer and downs it fast, and then he kisses Charlie because he is drunk enough to think this will make Charlie feel better. 

"Showmance," Charlie says, shoving Marcus away. "Showmance means you don't actually have to kiss me." He walks away and sits at the edge of the water with the waves lapping his feet, his back emphatically to Marcus. Marcus wants to follow him, wants for this to be a scene in a movie where he apologizes and the music swells to tell them everything is all right. 

Marcus sits on his bed under the swaying lights and tries to read, but he's too full of beer and sympathy. Instead, he takes a shower. He's not thinking about anything in particular, but he has an erection. In the game, starving to death, he never got hard. He jerks off and says a little prayer for things that feel good, for things he understands.

Marcus lies awake in bed, waiting for Charlie to come in and talk his ear off like the night before, but Charlie is more patient than he is. He wakes up when dawn cuts through the windows and stumbles into the common room to see if there's coffee. He's finished three cups and a Jason Bourne novel when Charlie finally joins him. "Listen, man, I'm sorry," Marcus says.

"No, I know," Charlie says, keeping his distance physically. "Apology accepted."

"But?"

"But. . . I don't know. Forget it." Charlie pours himself a cup of coffee and grabs a couple of pastries. Wherever CBS is outsourcing its donuts from, they're fantastic.

"We have to spend the next twelve days together. I can't just drop it." 

"Okay, I. . . okay." Charlie sits down on the sofa next to Marcus and sips his coffee like he's preparing a closing argument. "I, you know, I've had straight friends. I'm not one of those people who hits on everyone. But you - you don't act like any straight guy I've ever been friends with. And it's okay, I believe you, I'm not out to, like, win a toaster or something. But I'm confused. And I get the feeling you are, too."

Marcus is already hazy with caffeine, but he gets up for another cup of coffee because he can't sit like this, like he's taking a test he didn't study for. He holds the full cup, letting the heat seep into his hands. Charlie's waiting, timing and evaluating him. But Marcus is good under pressure. He says, "Can I kiss you again, and if it doesn't work out we can forget about it?"

Charlie sits with his back to Marcus for a few moments, brow furrowed, thinking it over. He puts down his donut and wipes his hands on his shorts, then turns around to kneel on the sofa. Marcus has to lean down to kiss him. Charlie starts out cautiously but soon is so forceful, it feels like he is trying to pull Marcus's hair out, to give him whiplash. His strong tongue testing the geography of Marcus's mouth, his lips sugary with breakfast. Marcus holds Charlie's face in his hands, the skin shaved smooth. He must have just done it, making sure that grungy beard never came back. Charlie still looks a little sad, out of his element. Marcus says, "I thought making out on camera was part of the whole showmance thing."

"Yeah, I just, I have a history of letting straight guys get my hopes up."

"Well, then, don't," Marcus says. "It's fake. It's just for the show. I'm using you to get attention."

"Okay. I guess if it's just for the show." Charlie leaps over the back of the sofa, about 90% graceful and 10% clumsy, and wraps his arms around Marcus's waist when he's found his footing. The kisses are really the opposite of fake. And Marcus is not putting his hand down there to make sure, but he doesn't think Charlie's erection is his imagination either.

Marcus isn't going to go any farther, and Charlie seems to figure that out. Charlie goes back to his breakfast; they talk about the players still on the island, the book Marcus was reading, how Nabog is the dumbest tribe name in the history of _Survivor_. Marcus is trying to decide whether he's attracted to Charlie, or whether he just likes Charlie so much that he wants Charlie's constant attention. That's always been his downfall. Good at school, good in sports, always pretty popular, astonished to be suddenly good-looking in high school and to hold onto that through his twenties. But he did stupid shit because he wanted the attention. Every girlfriend who has dumped him has put it a different way. Emily said he was too self-centered; Marie said he was needy; Stephanie found out he was cheating on her with some other girl who was paying him more attention. It's an embarrassing pattern.

It is comforting to know that sooner or later Charlie will get over his crush, and then Marcus will stop having to question his sexuality.

After Charlie finishes his breakfast, they hike up to the lighthouse. It's oppressively hot out, but the air is so clean, so sweet with the green fragrance of the forest. "It doesn't seem like we're really here," Marcus says. "In Africa."

"Or it feels like we should be other people. Like we should have to change to be here." Charlie is barely breaking a sweat. It's ridiculous.

They climb the stairs to the top of the lighthouse. It takes a minute for the cameraman to catch up with them. Marcus leans onto the railing and stares out at the treetops and the maze of waterways, the primeval world below them. He slides his hand over to hold Charlie's; Charlie kisses Marcus's cheek and then rests his head on Marcus's shoulder. They'll look cute in the internet bonus footage.

They go back to the ranch for lunch and to wait out the hottest part of the day playing video games. When the sun begins to set, they go out for a run along the beach. The cameraman tells them they're exhausting and sends them off on their own. They jog to the farthest point of Ponderosa Island. Charlie, who is running a little ahead of Marcus, stops short so Marcus almost runs into him. He kisses Marcus hungrily. The tide is coming in, and the cool water laps at their feet. "I can't believe you keep letting me do this," Charlie says.

Marcus rolls his eyes and kisses Charlie harder. Charlie nudges Marcus's head to the side and kisses Marcus's neck. He makes a trail with his lips down Marcus's chest, sinking down to his knees. Charlie goes so slow, it's clear he's seeing how far he'll get before Marcus makes him stop, but Marcus wants to see what will happen if he lets Charlie keep going forever.

Just below Marcus's belly button, Charlie says, "Really?" and Marcus tells him to go for it. Marcus has been with girls who have given head out of duty and girls who have genuinely enjoyed it, and Charlie is either in the latter category or a convincing liar. He alternates between sucking hard and working around Marcus's dick with his tongue, which is the way to go, so Marcus pretty much just zones out and enjoys it, back arched to the sky. He curls his toes in the sand to keep himself centered as the tide rises up to his ankles. He comes smiling, his face full of sunlight.

He tries to help Charlie to his feet but ends up spilling backward into the wet sand as Charlie kisses him playfully. He rocks back on his knees and goes for Charlie's zipper. He realizes that his jaw is clenched tight with fear, and he wonders how he's going to finesse this one. Charlie grabs him by the hair and says, "Hey. You're going to lose your shorts in the ocean." While Marcus yanks his sandy, saturated shorts back on, Charlie adds, "Besides, you're not there yet."

Marcus pounces on Charlie, pushing him deeper into the sand, kissing him. He's just going to use his hand. Charlie is pulling his own shorts down his hips as Marcus keeps kissing. He's not really jerking Charlie off, more like Charlie is rubbing against his stomach and he's guiding it. It's kind of like high school, upstairs at a party in somebody's parents' room, messing around but not quite having sex. A lot of being on reality TV is like that, except that everyone really _is_ watching and judging.

Charlie's kisses become ragged and wild. He's still trying to kiss when he comes on Marcus's chest. They're both coated in sand. The process of getting up is so itchy and gross, Marcus takes off his shorts and tosses them back onto the beach before jumping into the water. Charlie strips and follows him. They are running and tackling each other, kicking sand and seawater, chasing each other deeper. Standing in the waist-deep ocean with their noses touching, letting the tropical sun dry their shoulders. No microphones or cameras anywhere, just sky and sea.

But they can't stay like that forever, so they go back to shore. Marcus's shorts are pretty dry: wearable once he beats the sand out of them. They walk back slowly, carrying their shoes and holding hands, talking about places Charlie will have to see in Atlanta and people Marcus will have to meet in New York. Marcus doesn't assume they're going to go back and be a couple, but for now, he's living in the world where that happens.

When they get back to Ponderosa, the crew applauds. They seem to feel that they have a hand in this.

Charlie is hot and cold through the evening, but they've crossed a line, and he has a right to his uncertainty. Also, he's probably being his normal self, and it's Marcus who's reading too much into it. If people turn away from him for a second, he begins to think they hate him. They watch a couple of movies, superhero double feature. The Ponderosa staff keep the margaritas coming. They're trying to make something happen.

Charlie goes to bed first. After Marcus has brushed his teeth, he takes a chance and crawls into bed with Charlie. Charlie doesn't kick him out, but he's stiff and anxious in Marcus's arms. "Are you not a cuddler?" Marcus says. "Because you strike me as a cuddler."

"Why are you acting like you're so into me?" Charlie says.

"Because, um, let's see." Marcus pauses for dramatic sarcasm. "I'm so into you."

"Come on. I'm not even your first choice."

Marcus is so perplexed by that statement, he can't come up with an answer.

"Really, all that time you spent with Jacquie? If she'd made the jury, she's the one you'd be drunkenly attack-spooning."

He genuinely has not thought of Jacquie in a week. There is no way to express this without making himself sound like a horrible person. "I don't know. She was cute and blonde, and she liked me. But we didn't have that much in common besides being on _Survivor._ I was just flirting." He kisses Charlie's neck.

Charlie rolls over to face him. "So was I." He kisses Marcus on the bridge of his nose, between his eyes. "Let that be a lesson to me."

They're making out, and by now it feels natural. It did from the start, but now Marcus isn't busy thinking about whether he likes it. He'd been _trying_ to not like it, to confirm his heterosexuality to himself. But an expert tongue in his mouth and a hand around his dick, his body is going to respond to that. It feels good, and the rest is all psychology.

They stick to the same menu as on the beach, mouths and hands, everything-but-sex. They've crossed enough lines for today. Charlie's ridiculous stamina applies to this too, and he could probably keep Marcus up until daybreak. Marcus gives him a decisive kiss good night. He falls asleep with Charlie's arm across his chest, Charlie's dick against his thigh, Charlie's head nestled in the curve of his neck.

There's a tribal council the next day, and the sense of purpose sends Charlie aflutter. At the breakfast table, he gestures with a fantastic donut, laying out the showmance plan, how they're going to _suggest_ they're dating just enough to confuse the people still in the game. They'll gradually move closer together as tribal goes on until they're almost touching. He's also very hung up on color-coordinated outfits. Deep in Marcus's heart, he knows the remaining castaways don't give a crap, but would he rather sulk about being stuck on the jury? It's fun to watch Charlie all lit up.

Marcus stands in the doorway gazing at Charlie, who has unpacked all of his own shirts and Marcus's shirts and is comparing them side by side on the bed. "I want you to wear this one because you look hot in it," Charlie says. "But it doesn't go with any of _my_ stuff." He is swishing around, clucking his tongue, holding shirts up to Marcus's chest. "I've never known a straight guy who wore so much _pink_."

Marcus takes the pink shirt from him. "I guess you're not _quite_ gay enough for the both of us." 

"Put this one on. I want to see." Charlie hands Marcus another shirt, a light green one. It's clear from the hungry grin in Charlie's eyes that what he wants to see is Marcus's six pack. The shirt's a little tight, which Marcus will let Charlie find out after he puts it on. Charlie looks him over approvingly. "I've got it. You wear that, and I'll wear my pink checked one."

"Yeah, that way everyone will know who's on top."

It takes Charlie a second, but when he cracks up giggling, he almost falls over. "You know we're actually going to have to talk about that later."

Tribal goes on for hours, and everyone is mean and full of bitterness. Either Randy or Sugar has committed some terrible crime involving cookies. Each week, it is harder to believe that one of these idiots is going to win a million dollars. It's clear from the start that Randy is next to go, but the tribe makes a point of humiliating him on his way out. There is complicated business with a fake immunity idol, and Crystal shouts her confessional. Marcus laughs for the cameras, astonished and incredulous. 

They return to the crew's tent city, and the medical team whisks Randy away for his physical. There are snacks and sodas to keep Marcus and Charlie busy while they wait for him to come back. They try to talk strategy, but Marcus is too horrified to think and too tired to shout. He kisses Charlie instead. One of the camera guys does them the favor of warning them before Randy comes back so they can stop making out. But they're not quite under control while Randy catches them up on the situation at camp, flicking each other in the arm and giggling. Were they supposed to hide this? They probably should have discussed it.

After about an hour of ranting, Randy asks, "So, what have you two been up to?"

Charlie looks at Marcus and laughs, and Marcus says, "Blow jobs," and Charlie laughs harder and flicks him in the arm. Marcus clarifies. "Not _that_ many."

Randy studies them, and he gets it. "Well," he says. "I'm not one to judge good people."

Charlie smiles, heavy-lidded, and rocks back on his hips. He looks relieved, and it occurs to Marcus that he must have been worried about what Randy would say. It didn't occur to Marcus that Randy would be bothered. Maybe Marcus is ignorant; maybe if he knew what it was like to be gay out in the world, he would be smart enough to be afraid. Charlie is so open, so defiantly fluttery and outrageous, and Marcus has assumed these are natural traits but wonders if they are survival skills, if what Charlie is doing is daring people to hate him.

By the time Randy tires out, it's too late for anything more than cuddling and drowsy kisses. It's a good thing, since the tents aren't exactly soundproof and it would be mean to keep the crew awake. Five minutes after the helicopter ride back to Ponderosa, though, Marcus and Charlie are slamming the bedroom door behind them. Marcus's first try at giving head is sloppy, but Charlie doesn't complain. He still seems proud of himself every time Marcus touches him, and at the same time frightened.

They spend the rest of the day behaving themselves, showing Randy around, eating way too much and going to bed drunk. When Marcus wakes up, Charlie is still asleep as usual, and he doesn't stir when Marcus kisses his forehead. But Randy is digging into a gigantic plate of eggs and bacon, disrupting Marcus's ritual of early morning, coffee and donuts, bad novel. "Did you sleep all right?" Marcus hopes Randy likes conversation with his breakfast. 

"Not bad. You?" There's a naughty gleam in Randy's eye.

"After that ten-course dinner? Like a beached whale."

Randy guffaws, then gets down to business. "So, you and him, how long've you been. . . you know."

"Oh, really, since... pretty much since he got here." Marcus pauses; the donuts really don't get any less fantastic. "Not, not before or anything."

"Wouldn't've had much time for it in the game, I guess," Randy says. "Would've blown your cover. Those girls wouldn't've wrapped themselves around your fingers if they knew you were gay."

"But I'm not gay. I mean, he is, but I. . . I'm not into him because he's a guy. I'm into him because he's Charlie. Does that make any sense?"

Randy chews his eggs. "What I think is, you can feel whatever you want in your heart, but people are going to see you walk down the street with him and draw their own conclusions. They're not gonna go, 'Oh, look, there's a gay guy and his boyfriend who's straight but just likes him for being Charlie.' That doesn't make it right, but that's how it is."

"I know. But I'm not thinking about that. I figure I have two more days until things might get weird, so I'm just going to coast until then."

Randy grunts approval, swallows, and changes the subject back to the game of Survivor. He's pretending to be bulletproof, but his ego has taken a beating. Marcus's instinct for revenge resurges in him.

Marcus finds somewhere quiet to burn off his aggression and the donut. He's still working out when Charlie flounces into the room. Marcus doesn't want to make too much of the fact that Charlie comes over to kiss him before getting coffee, but it makes him feel special. 

Marcus gets up and runs his hands up Charlie's sides. Randy is ignoring them pointedly. Marcus says, "Let's go somewhere." 

Charlie smiles broadly and shakes himself free. "You're cute. I need coffee." He takes his shirt off before he sits down with his mug. He drinks slowly; this is some kind of test. Marcus stares at him the entire time. Finally, Charlie says, "Okay. Let's go somewhere."

Marcus works fast, not wanting to give himself time to think his way out of this. He takes Charlie out of his shorts and takes the condoms out of his own pocket. The Ponderosa medicine cabinet is well-stocked, and he has raided it. Charlie is asking if Marcus is sure about this, and Marcus flops back on the bed, like, _take me._

Charlie climbs on top of Marcus and claws his chest. "You're really turned on."

"Yeah. You can stop letting that surprise you." Marcus sits up halfway so he can meet Charlie's lips. 

Charlie is cute when he's naked. Little and wiry and vulnerable. "So you want me to go down on you?" He looks like a kid in a cereal commercial being offered a balanced breakfast.

"No, I. . . I think we should have sex."

Charlie makes a face. "What do you think we've been doing?" He kisses Marcus's lips sharply. "No, I'm messing with you, I know what you're trying to say. You want your dick in my butt. So okay. Move over." He shoves Marcus's arm. Marcus scoots to the edge of the bed, and Charlie lies down on his back, knees apart and pointed toward the ceiling.

"Not if you don't want to."

"No, I do. I do." Charlie smiles insincerely. 

Marcus remembers what Charlie said about having to talk about this later. "Do you. . . do you want me to be on the bottom?"

"No. Later. Some other time. No, I just, most of the time I'd rather just do oral. Penetration is such a big production number, and it's never as good as anyone wants it to be, and you obviously think it _means_ something in a way that, like - Never mind. Sorry. It means something for you, and I'm ruining it. Do it. Do it, do it, do it."

Marcus's first instinct is that they should discuss this, but it's a stupid instinct. He looks at Charlie's butt and remembers his urology rotation, hundreds of prostate exams. He no longer has issues about butts or putting things inside them, although he definitely has no business becoming a urologist. He clears his throat and puts on the condom. 

It's uncomfortable and unpleasant for the first couple of minutes, both of them nervous and out of alignment, but they shift and squirm around each other until Charlie's face relaxes, until Marcus is at what seems like the strangest angle. But it seems to be working for Charlie, and it's fine for him. In fact, really good. Charlie is making happy noises and saying, "No, harder." Marcus thinks this must be too hard, but it's great, just to let loose. Coming feels natural, just another variation. They're good together.

Charlie is still hard, to the point where he must be going crazy. Marcus does not need a detailed discussion to know that Charlie really likes having his balls played with. Marcus starts sucking on them, working his tongue over them. He has his fist around Charlie's dick, but he barely has to do anything up there. This feels much gayer than what they were doing before, and he thinks that was what Charlie meant about assigning meaning to the wrong things. 

Charlie comes loudly. Marcus lifts his head and watches Charlie writhe in the sticky sheets, smiling and satisfied, completely sweet and adorable. Marcus could not be talked out of being in love with him. He says so.

"You're just saying that because I let you fuck me." Charlie waits for Marcus to react, but it's too easy of a joke. Marcus stares at Charlie, stony-faced, until Charlie says, "I've been in love with you for weeks. Since I met you. Since _before_ I met you." He plays with Marcus's fingers. "But you know that."

"I like hearing you say it, though." Marcus pulls Charlie into his arms. Charlie drags him down onto the bed, and they roll around, just to feel the closeness of each other.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." In between words, Charlie kisses his face and bites his earlobe.

"Oh, baby," Marcus says. "Don't stop."


End file.
